Similar
by Wylrin
Summary: After a terrible incident involving a child, Jack returns to his lake to escape it all. However, when Pitch Black makes an appearance, answers are discovered, and new questions are formed.


Little puffs of snow fell from the sky and flitted in the air as boots romped through what had gathered on the ground. Laughter filled the air as snowballs were thrown and snowmen were made. It was late December, and the children were off school. The figure silently watching the kids play could not be accounted for this, however. It was nearly Christmas, which for all children meant winter break and for Santa Claus meant extra hard work for the next few days to make sure everything was ready.

For Jack Frost, the one quietly observing the fun and cheer, it meant plenty of oppurtunities for fun. He no longer directly interacted with the children, just as the Easter Bunny didn't just up and hand colored eggs to people. It had confused him at first, why for beings that desperately needed to be believed in, didn't show themselves to anyone. Though over time he grew to understand. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Toothfairy... they were all things of wonder, of hope. Part of that wonder was in the wondering itself. _Was _Santa Claus real? The unknowns were what made that belief, _belief, _and not simply fact. For if everyone knew such beings were real, where would be the power of believing? There would be no wonder in it... just another commonly known fact, like how the sun will always return at dawn, no second thought put into it. Jack understood now. For there to be belief, there has to be some question of doubt. It's what it was.

Still, it was difficult not to frolic in the snow alongside the children. For three hundred years all he had yearned for was to be seen. Now, only months after he had gained that, he had taken to being unseen again, hiding in the bushes or around corners. Yet, he reminded himself, this was far different than being invisible before. He was _believed in _now, and that made all the difference.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, the spirit of winter fun went back to watching the children play. It didn't take any influence from him for them to enjoy themselves now, what with Christmas so near. Still, a little bit of motivation didn't hurt. An extra slippery sheet of ice here, for sleds to descend down the hills at even greater speeds, an extra little push there, to help the children with their little arms in making the biggest snowman ever. It was all the little things Jack Frost did that made winter even more fun.

A small smile tugged the corners of his lips. Watching kids play never got old to him. That smile vanished, however, when he heard the sound of sirens in the distance. The sound grew steadily louder, until several cop cars sped by, the sirens growing quieter again as they faded into the distance. The children stopped playing, watching the cars speed down the road. Even when they vanished, they were still hesitant to continue on with their cheer. The winter spirit frowned, silently jumping into the air in pursuit of the disturbance.

It wasn't difficult tracking them; the song of the sirens still rang in the air as the vehicles made their way to some unknown destination. Jack followed the line of cop cars worriedly. What accident would require so many of them? He prepared himself for the worst, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

There was a crowd assembled in front of a building. Each of their faces was horror stricken, some in tears, others in shock. It was loud. So many voices filled the air at once.

"My God, what happened?"

"How did this happen?"

"I saw her - I saw her on the roof. A-And then she..."

"Nooo!"

"I never would've thought this would happen..."

"S-She's so young..."

"Oh, poor baby!"

It wasn't for a while until Jack finally saw what the commotion was about. It was something no one could ever un-see. There, on the ground, was a little girl. She couldn't have been older than little Sophie. Only Sophie had blonde hair, and Sophie.. wasn't covered in blood.

She was lying face-down on the sidewalk. Her face was hidden underneath her mat of hair, but it was probably for the best... for who knew what horribly disfigured, bloodied mess lay there.

Jack felt his lunch - eaten some three hundred years before - rise in his throat. Putting a hand over his mouth, he tried to look away but found he could not. His breathing was irregular now, and if he were human he would probably have been hyperventilating. He could not look away, but he finally did manage to close his eyes. She was still there. The image of that little girl had been burned into his mind, only in his mind it was far worse. He saw her bloodied, smashed-in face looking up at him, asking why he hadn't saved her, why he hadn't been there for her. The spirit forced his eyes open, tears now streaming freely from them. He brought himself to look away from the scene, if only just.

"What.. what's happening?"

"What's going on?"

Jack's eyes snapped open at the sound of children's voices. They were looking at the crowd, confusion in their eyes, unable to see what the mass of people hid in the center. With a small wave of his hand, the spirit brought forth their forgotten sled, driven on a road of ice. It barreled into the two, knocking them onto the sled as it sped away. Their shock was soon replaced by cheers and laughter as the sled took quick turns this way and that, leading them anywhere, so long as it was away from what lay with the crowd. They didn't need to see this. They didn't need to be scarred for life...

"My baby!"

The spirit's attention was brought back to the scene at the distressed cry of a woman. Police were holding back the crowd now, two holding back the screaming woman. Tears streamed down her eyes and sobs racked her frame. "That's my baby!"

Jack's heart shattered at these words, what little of it hadn't been shattered already. He hugged his staff, as if that would provide some comfort, as the policemen tried to hold back and console the devastated, heart broken mother.

He couldn't stay any longer. He couldn't take anymore... Jack Frost flew away from the commotion, tears still leaking from his eyes, flying through the air as they dropped from his face. He went back to the lake, the lake he had considered home for so many years. He landed on the sheet of ice covering the water and cried; simply curled up into a ball and cried. He stayed that way until nothing was left in his system, his body still shuddering but no more tears, for there weren't any left to cry.

"Tragic, really," came a voice from the shadows. "All she wanted to do was fly... She only found out too late that she couldn't..."

Jack snapped his head in the direction of the voice, where Pitch stood leaning against a tree. With a strangled cry, he immediately had his staff in hand, shooting a gust of ice at the darker spirit. Said spirit managed to get himself out of the way in the nick of time, the ice instead making contact with the tree and freezing the bark up to the tips of the tree's twigs. Jack did not stop his assault there, however. He broke into a run, charging at Pitch and swinging his staff at him, a streak of ice in its wake. The ice made contact with its target, who had still been trying to right himself from his previous evasion, and knocked him back.

Still seething in a silent fury, Jack made to strike at his enemy again with thousands of tiny shards of ice, but Pitch was ready this time. He called forth some shadows to shield himself from the barrage of ice, but it had little effect. He was far too weak right now and Jack was far too strong. The ice overwhelmed his shadows, instantly dissipating them on touch and surging on to attack their master. Once again he was thrown back, only this time colliding harshly with a tree. He could barely register the pain in the back of his head before Frost was on him again. He was instantly enveloped in cold, ice freezing him to the spot. Paralyzed by the neck down, helplessly frozen to the tree, he looked up to see the staff pointed right between his eyes.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shatter this ice into a million pieces," Jack growled. "You along with it!"

Trying to surpass the slight chattering of his teeth from the intense cold, he replied, with a small growl of his own, "And if you did that, how many _other _incidences would there be like the one you just witnessed?"

Taken aback, Jack backed down slightly, lowering his staff but keeping it at the ready should things go awry. Pitch, with one last bout of strength, let himself fade to shadow, reforming by the tree to escape his icy prison, if only to maintain his dwindling dignity.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked skeptically.

"I would've told you, if you hadn't _mauled _me first. _Really, _Jack," Pitch smirked. "Always the one to throw the first punch. Didn't your _mother _ever teach you to -"

"_Tell me, Pitch,_" the boy demanded.

Pitch's smirk faded, replaced by anger. "Have you ever thought, _Jack_, of the consequences of throwing fear away? Oh, it was all happy fun times for you when they stopped believing in the Boogieman. But didn't you ever think, what the world would be without fear?"

"A world without you? I'd take that anyday," Jack said, a smug smile on his face now.

The Nightmare King's anger increased ten-fold. "You don't understand!" he exclaimed. "This world is _nothing _without fear, _nothing_ without _me._" Composing himself slightly, no longer shouting but now taking on a quiet, dark tone, he went on. "That girl? She always wanted to fly. It was her wildest dream. And it _stayed_ a dream, until fear started to fade. With nothing to hold her back, no _fear _to keep her from stopping, she _flung herself_ off the roof... All in an attempt to fulfill her _precious dream_." He spat out the last two words as if they were venom.

Jack stared at him, the gears in his mind slowly contemplating what he had said. It sent a chill down his spine, just how insensitive he was in regards to such a thing. But that soon faded to anger, as he realized, "You? _You_.. did this?" His voice came out in a whisper.

"Like I said, Jack, you can never truly elliminate fear. But since you seemed so intent on it, I decided to _show you_ what it's like without fear." A dark smile crept on his face. "So do you see now, Jack, what happens you take away fear?"

"You..." Jack's voice was a hoarse whisper, half out of disbelief and half out of fury. "You killed her..." His face contorting with rage, he screamed, "_You monster!_"

"_I'm_ a monster?!" Pitch screamed in return, deflecting a blow from Frost as the boy came charging at him again. "What do I have to do, Frost?! I'm an outcast either way, aren't I?!"

Jack halted his attacks on the other, the fury in his eyes still there, but beginning to soften slightly as he listened to what Pitch had to say.

"I'm hated for exploiting fear, for being what I am! You curse me for taking fear away, being what I'm not! What do I have to do, _Jack_?!" The Boogieman's chest was heaving with anger now, his yellow eyes boring into the boy's.

The hatred still coursed through the winter spirit, but it was not so evident in his eyes now. He thought for a moment about what Pitch had said, before returning, "You never keep balance. You're always trying to make fear the only thing anyone ever feels, or taking it away... doing something like this... Why can't you live in balance with the other -"

"You think I haven't tried?" Pitch demanded. "Fear is not like _hope_ or _wonder_, fear is either _there_, or its _not_. Yes, there is always worry, or unease, or anxiety, but true _fear _does not last. Only the _memory _of fear remains, and do tell, Jack, for you're very familiar with such things. What _happens _to memories, Jack? They _fade_, they're _forgotten_. They might stay with you, but not a second thought is put into them. So no, Jack, fear is not something that can be _balanced_. It is either there, or it isn't."

"You take it too far," Jack insisted. "You hurt people."

Pitch stayed quiet for a while, before saying, "And you don't?"

"No!" immediately came the answer. Something startled Jack about that question. Of course he didn't hurt people, why would he even...?

"Oh, come now, we both know _that's _not true," Pitch returned.

"What are you talking about? I've never hurt anyone!"

"Oh, really? You should know by now, Jack, that I _know _when you're afraid. And right now, you're afraid that I'm _right_, and you should be, because I am. What about every car wreck you've caused because you've taken your ice to the road? How many people have slipped on the front porch and nearly broken their backs?" A dark grin came to his face as he continued, "How many people have drowned because of a little thin ice -"

"Shut up!"

" - Or how many people have frozen to death? Been buried beneath the snow?" A pause, and then, "Need I go on?"

"I think you've said enough," Jack told him, raising his staff threateningly.

"Oh, but I don't think I have. Tell me, all those people who have been harmed because of your antics... Are they having _fun_, Jack?"

The hold on his staff wavered slightly. He didn't answer.

"I thought not," said Pitch. A dark chuckle escaped him. "You really _are_ just like me."

Jack's body went rigid at that statement. His hold on the staff tightened. "I am _nothing _like you!" he cried.

"Oh, no, you are _exactly_ like me," Pitch insisted. His tone grew angrier, though, as he continued, "The only difference between you and me is that the Man in the Moon turns a blind eye to the things _you _do."

"That's not true..."

"It's perfectly true," the Nightmare King told him. "We are exactly the same, and yet you're treated like a saint, and I'm treated like a monster." He lowered his head, uttering but a single word. "Why..?"

Frost looked at Pitch contemplatively. He seemed different. His physical appearance was the same, but he'd lost the grace he'd had before. He seemed... tired, distant. And, despite how much the Nightmare King was trying to hide it, he looked scared, confused. It was then that Jack took to some form of understanding. How would a bird feel if it were being punished for flying? Or a dog being punished for running? For doing something that was natural to it? For doing what it was meant to do? It would feel scared.. confused.. lost... alone.

_"I don't know what it's like to be cast out? To not be believed in? To long for.. a family?"_

Those words came back to him again, this time with a whole new meaning. They seemed more sincere now, and Jack could feel the pain behind them. Pulling himself out of his thoughts and looking to the other spirit, he saw that Pitch had turned his back to him, and was staring up at the sky. Though it was the middle of broad daylight, a faint image of the moon could be seen. Taking a few hesitant steps toward him, Jack could hear him whisper again, "Why..?"

Standing behind him now, Jack carefully put a hand on his dark-clad shoulder. Turning his head around, almost flinching at the touch, Pitch asked, confusedly, "Frost?"

Soft blue eyes meeting harsh yellow ones, Jack said nothing, merely kept a hand on the other's shoulder. So many emotions seemed to flit across the Boogieman's eyes, that he didn't seem much like the Boogieman anymore. Those eyes seemed to be pleading for some explanation, and something else, too, though Jack couldn't be sure what.

"I can't forgive you," Jack told him softly. "I don't think I ever can, not after everything... But I think I can at least _understand_ now, a little... Maybe that's all anybody needs... For someone to understand..."

Pitch stared back at him mutely. There were so many emotions he felt; some confused him, others scared him slightly. And he didn't like that. Pulling away from Jack's hand and taking a few steps back, he still held their gaze. He wasn't sure what to think, much less what to do. Turning away, giving the winter spirit one last glance, he silently retreated into the shadows, uttering not a word.

Jack Frost watched him go, feeling conflicted himself. A part of him hated, _hated _the other spirit with all his ability to possibly hate. Yet another part of him felt some sort of... He wasn't sure _what _it was, but it wasn't entirely hate, he knew that. Perhaps.. was it really sympathy? He couldn't be sure, but whatever it was, it left him feeling strange, like he needed to _do _something, but for the life of him he didn't know what. Sighing softly, he looked up to the sky, and he swore he could see the moon smiling at him.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm not sure how this story went. The interaction between two enemies with things in common can be difficult to write, in my opinion. But please review if you can; I'm interested to see how this story is taken. :D**


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